Of course, the essential nature of presence alone gives us enough to think about. And even this—what the presence of that which is present might mean in its Greek sense—has not been adequately traced in our inquiry.
Not everything that in some way is, is present in the same way. But we shall now try to bring out at least some of the fundamental characteristics of the presence of what is present. But why do we translate the Greek εἶναι and ἐόν with "being present"? Because in the Greek, εἶναι must always be supplied tacitly and is often made explicit: παρεῖναι and ἀπεῖναι. The παρά means coming closer; the ἁπό, going away.
The Greeks do not conceive of being present and abiding primarily in terms of mere duration. For the Greeks, a totally different trait predominates in being present and abiding—at times specifically expressed through παρά and ἁπό. To be present is to come close by, to be here in contrast and conflict with to be away. But whence does the presence come closer—and closer to what?
A mountain range that lies before us may serve as an example. We give our attention to the mountains that are there, not in respect of their geological structure or geographical location, but only in respect of their being present. What is present has risen from unconcealment. It takes its origin from such a rise in its being present. Having risen from unconcealment, what is present also has entered into what was already unconcealed: the mountain range lies in the landscape. Its presence is the rising entry into what is unconcealed within unconcealment, even and especially when the mountain range keeps standing as it is, extending and jutting.
But this rise from unconcealment, as the entry into what is unconcealed, does not specifically come to the fore in the presence of what is present. It is part of presence to hold back these traits, and thus to let come out only that which is present.